The solo notes of a lazy trumpet announced the marching. The people opened their umbrellas and started to walk while the band was adding color to the song. The funeral procession had begun, with the young grieving widow close to her husband’s coffin.

Detective DeForest was smoking a cigarette while was watching the show going on from the other side of the road with his partner.

“Do you believe she killed the banker?”, he asked. “There’s no evidence of that”, Deforest said. “But… come on… isn’t that her third husband died in mysterious circumstances?”, said the police officer. The widow turned her head and looked at him with those black eyes so intense that seemed to strip his soul. “Maybe some day, Sam… maybe some day…”